


Decisions, Decisions

by lunarblazes



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: IT’S A REVERSE BIG BANG BAYBEEE, and also computer wife but shhhhhh, dragonpuff17 I love her, go check out the lovely artist who I worked with, ill put a warning on the chapter that comes up in, longest fic ive written by myself, there’s a bit of sad thoughts about. bad things so if u don’t like that then beware, this is a play on synthesize her!, this is som angst ridden shit my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarblazes/pseuds/lunarblazes
Summary: Doctor Sung and his best friend Synthia have a pretty good life. They do shows at the nearby bar and watch action movies on their off-time. Sung has some unhealthy habits in his robotics work, but Synthia’s there to keep him in check. The two are never bored. What could go wrong?Turns out just about everything.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: TWRP Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Perimeters Set

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the lovely, wonderful, amazing TWRP Reverse Big Bang 2020 challenge! My artist was the equally lovely and wonderful and amazing dragonpuff17 on instagram, Twitter, and tumblr. Please go check her out and read all the other fics written for this challenge, they’re all so good! Huge thank you to the mods for organizing everything and for being super cool this whole time, you dudes RULE!

Sung smiled up at the sky. It was always really comforting to see the tiny lights in the endless night, a reminder of what their people were meant to do. Be that little light in the darkness— shine brighter than the world around you. Though this was a mantra encouraged equally by their elders, Sung had always suspected that some shone brighter than others.

Case in point: the blue beacon giggling next to him. “Sung? Did you hear me?” 

Sung blinked, and she laughed louder. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Uh… maybe… totally?”

“Then what did I say?”

“Um… that the stars are beautiful?”

“Sung, you’re adorable and an idiot. I said that our show tomorrow almost sold out this time!”

Sung gaped. “Really?! No way!” Sure, it was true that only meant that they’d be playing in front of 20 people instead of the usual 10, but he’d take anything he could get. 

She grinned wider at his stupefied expression. “Yes way! Your synth work is the cause, I tell you.”

Sung smacked her arm playfully. “Is not! Vocals and guitar are important too.”

“Sung, I don’t think you understand how good you are at this. You’ll go far, and I’ll be there with you! Your music is like magic on the air, and people’ll hear it. You just gotta work for it.”

“Thanks for the advice, oh sage of wisdom.”

“Shut up! I’m serious.”

“And so am I!”

“Just look at the stars, cyclops boy.” She flopped down onto her back, stretching her hand out as if she could touch the little flames burning in the abyss. “Do you know that constellation?”

“Yeah— that’s Scorpio, right?”

“Mhm! And that one?”

“Hmmmm… Orion?”

“Damn, you’re good. That one?”

Sung’s brow scrunched forward. “Woah, I have no idea. I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s cause I just made it up.” She popped her lips on the p in up. “That’ll be our constellation,” she said, tracing her fingers to the sky, “those four stars right there. What d’you think we should name em?”

Sung laughed softly and glanced over at his friend. “You’re so stupid,” he grinned, all smiles and starlight, “but I’m gonna have to say…” He scrunched up his face in exaggerated thought. “Hmmmm… I can’t think of anything! What about you, got any ideas?”

“Time.”

“Pfft, really?”

“Yeah— past, present, future. Time!”

“What about the fourth star?”

“That’s the star of decision. Decision is as important as any other part of time; it’s what makes the others happen.”

“Is that so? Now you really do sound like a sage.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s true! Nothing could happen without decision, Sung. Our constellation is time!”

Sung giggled. Now that he thought about it, that actually sounded reasonable. Maybe it was just the way she was explaining it, with her blue tipped hair bouncing as she got more worked up. Her antennae were beginning to glow, a surefire sign that she was getting excited. “Y’know, you’ve sold me.”

“Who knows, maybe this show could be our biggest decision yet, setting in motion something even more amazing!”

“I don’t know about that. It’s just 20 people.”

“20 people can balloon into something amazing, Sung. If we gathered that many, who knows where we’ll go!” Her eyes were shining with secondhand light from her antennae mixed with the trillions and trillions of stars above, including their little constellation— Time.

Sung smiled and laid down on the grass again, letting the dew soak his head. “I’m sure you’re right, Synthia.”

•

The crowd was mellow, as it usually was. A fair amount of drugs had probably been passed out before the show, but the kinds that the public had access to were mostly harmless. They were all glowing softly, mostly content in their little chatter. 

The venue was just a little store this time, but the owner was friendly and very sweet to Sung and Synthia, letting them play when they needed it and giving them free refreshments. In turn, the two tried to attract more business by rocking as hard as they could. 

And if Sung was being totally honest, their shows did rock. Synthia’s penchant for making dramatic breeze effects coupled with his affinity for making little lights in the show made for some pretty top notch performances. Synthia was a spellbinding singer, her voice commanding attention and practically yanking the mood to its feet to dance until it was breathless and wild— her guitar work was sick as well.

But she always acted like he was the genius in their duo, like he was the one who would accomplish anything. Didn’t she see that she was more radiant than any star in the sky?

A light breeze blew through the backstage area (which was really just a glorified closet behind the makeshift stage the owner had set up), messing up Sung’s antenna as he put on his concert helmet. “Synthia? That you?”

A giggle answered his question before words did. “‘’Course it is, dumbass.” She stepped into the little room, already in her concert outfit. She picked at the hem of her shawl. “I look okay?” 

Sung gave her a once over. She was wearing a bit of a new getup— similar to the old one, just with rows of sequins attached to the bottom of her shawl and leggings and a bolt of translucent fabric around her waist. It was all sparkly, and as he looked up to her face, he noticed she was smiling boldly. “It’s so you can bounce your light off of it easier!”

He laughed. “That’s brilliant!” Straightening up, Sung grabbed her hand and bent to kiss the back of it. “And so are you, my lady.”

Synthia giggled and pulled her hand back to mess up his hair, knocking down his helmet. “You’re a moron, Sung. Now let’s go play!”

Before Sung even had much time to react, Synthia had grabbed her silver guitar and lept out onto the stage, as graceful as a moonbeam in a window. “So everyone! Who’s ready to get _pumped_ tonight!”

A few halfhearted cheers rose from the little crowd, and Synthia beamed. Sung reaffixed his helmet and grabbed his keyboard, bounding out to join her. “Wow, Synthia, it seems we’ll have to go extra funky for this crowd tonight! Gotta show ‘em a good time.”

“Sung, I’d reckon you’re right about that, so what do we do for some extra funk?”

“We start dancing like a chicken?” They’d practiced humor like this. It usually helped the crowd to get going and eased them into the songs. Synthia grinned and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“No, Sung— we’ve talked about this. I’m not chicken dancing in front of these lovely people!” That got a few laughs from the audience, and all the people were at least paying attention now.

“Well then, what’ll we do to make this show _extra_ funky?”

“We play a song, of course!”

And then they set off into the intro to Makin’ A Move— the song that made everyone think they were a couple. Though Synthia was undoubtedly beautiful and very talented, Sung didn’t feel anything romantic for her, and as far as he could recall he never had. They'd been friends since they were kids, when Synthia had gotten in trouble for socking a kid in the nose for asking Sung why he only had one eye. 

_“See you across the room, ‘cross the room, ‘cross the room… I wanna be with you, be with you, be with you!”_

Sung could see Synthia’s little wind currents whipping around her hair and legs as they swayed her sash to the beat of the song. How she managed to do that while singing and playing guitar was beyond him. He could only light up the stage when a relatively simple beat came up in the keyboard work. Speaking of, one such break was coming up. He reached out slightly and light bubbled from his fingertips, illuminating her from the back as she played a solo on guitar.

The crowd was really going now, dancing along to the song. Some were even reaching up on stage, trying to get a better look at Synthia’s outfit. Sung couldn’t blame them— it _was pretty cool._

As Sung sent out another burst of light, he thought he saw a tinge of black over the crowd, mirroring the blast. Like a shadow.

But that was impossible, their people didn’t cast shadows. They were shining lights, not assigned anything dark to take their form. He could’ve sworn…

Synthia was looking at him as she continued to dance across the stage. He shook himself and realized that he’d stopped playing, and quickly started up the melody of the song. She nodded, satisfied, though the mischievous gleam in her eyes told him that she wouldn’t forget this soon.

He was sure he wouldn’t either, but for a very different reason.

•

“Ah! That was such a great show!” Synthia pulled back her hair excitedly as she talked.

Sung nodded absently. “Mhm,” he murmured without feeling.

She cocked her head to the side. “You okay? You did mess up that section, you still off from that?”

“Eh… yeah. Kinda threw me off.” He forced a laugh, hoping it sounded real.

He could never fool her, though. She clearly wanted to ask more, but she let it go for now, sensing that he wouldn’t say anything more. “Okay, well, our next show is in a few days at that dive bar, right?”

“Yeah, think so. Should we get a new set for it?”

“We’re probably okay with this one. New crowd and all.” She flexed her fingers. “Ah, I’m not used to playing so much yet! I gotta get some hand exercises soon.”

“I have a list back at the ship if you wanna try some of those.”

“Oh, that’d be amazing! Race you back!”

“SYNTHIA—“ He called, but she was already gone, guitar case in hand and summer breeze blowing behind her. “Goddammit. She always does that,” Sung grumbled to himself. “WAIT UP, I’M COMING!”

•

Their next show was in a place they’d never played before. They did their normal pre-show ritual, joking and bantering about, and Sung almost stopped thinking about the strange shadows.

Almost.

Synthia entered stage before him, as per usual, and did her hype act to get the crowd ready. A few meager cheers rose, but it sounded like they were a bit drunk. Sung’s thoughts zoomed back to the shadow once more, but only for a second. They’d played worse crowds than this before, so what if they were a bit drunk?

He carefully stepped out onto the small stage. The lights here were a bit dimmer than the ones at their usual place, but that wasn’t a problem for him— he could always make more. The dimmer, grimy lights gave Synthia a sort of glow to her, as well, her antenna illuminated in a halo of soft yellow light. 

As he stepped out, Synthia grinned. They’d really have to ham this crowd up to get them excited, Sung noticed. They weren’t really reacting to anything, not really paying attention as they mulled about aimlessly with drinks in hand. 

“Alright, my good friend mister Sung—“

“Doctor, my lovely lady.”

“Oh shit, really? When did you get a doctorate? And in what?” Synthia was trying not to giggle. She’d come up with this little skit just to make fun of Sung’s PhD in…

“I’ll have you know that I am a very respected doctor in the field of high kicks.”

She really couldn’t suppress the giggle much longer. “Ah, a highly valued field. But I’m not sure I believe you…”

“Oh? What would make you believe me?”

“Perhaps… a demonstration would be in order?” She smiled coyly.

“Why, certainly.” Sung couldn’t stop a goofy grin from spreading across his face. He sidestepped away from his keytar and did a few quick kicks before bowing melodramatically. “Did that convince you?”

“Most impressive, my good doctor.” 

Sung glanced over the crowd. They were still mulling about, eyes almost unfocused. The thoughts of the shadow crept back into his mind, and his blood ran cold. Synthia was still going on with the bit, and he shook himself. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed. “Why, thank you,” he responded, a bit more shakily. “Should we entertain these lovely people?”

“Let’s do it!”

He started on their first song, Take Care of U, trying to focus on the show instead of the looming terror in his mind or the sedated state of the crowd. If Synthia had noticed anything, she didn’t show it, and he didn’t want her to be thrown off like this too. Her guitar playing was amazing, as usual, but the audience just wasn’t in it here.

They just stared as Sung shot a beam to illuminate Synthia, and he nearly fell over at what he saw.

Shadows, dozens of them, cast on the wall like a spattering of clouds over the star-filled sky.

He drew in a shaky breath and looked to Synthia, who was singing a high note as the beam’s light faded. She hadn’t seen it, it appeared. Sung scanned the crowd once more, looking for any sign of the shadows again.

No such evidence appeared, though he could have sworn that a man with no antennae was staring at him. When he looked back, nothing was there to meet his eye.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched for the whole rest of the show.

•

Synthia bounced backstage, more tired than usual. “Whoo, tough crowd this time around, huh?”

Sung forced himself to act casual. “Yeah. It happens,” he said with a shrug. He bent over to put away his equipment so she couldn’t see his face.

“Damn, my throat hurts this time… that song has a lot of high notes.” It did sound like she was straining a bit to talk at her normal animated pace. Sung put a hand to her forehead. 

“No fever… we’ll grab you some ice on the way back to the ship so you can numb that a bit. Hopefully it’ll clear up soon.”

“Yeah, probably. Just a bit scratchy.” She smiled. “Hey— you didn’t mess up this time!”

Sung tried his best to hide a wince at her words. “Yeah! That was good.”

Her gaze clouded, and Sung internally cursed. She’d seen it. “You okay?”

“Mhm. Just a little tired and… discouraged, I guess. Not a very good response.”

“Aw, chin up. They can’t all be winners. Sometimes you just get a crowd of deadbeats, and you have to make them dance somehow.”

Sung laughed halfheartedly. “Guess you’re right. They were probably drunk or something.” 

She waved at him and opened the door to the outside of the bar. “Let’s get home, now.” 

“Mhm.” He pushed a stool under the bar before following her out. “Movie night?”

“Hell yeah. We earned it.”

Something moved behind them, but when Sung turned, nothing was there.

“You good?” Synthia asked, mildly concerned.

“Yeah. Just thought I saw a cat or… something. Not important.” He turned back to her, and the moment was gone as she chattered about the newest movie in her favorite franchise.

“But Sung, the lead actress is so pretty! She’s so badass in that.”

“Naw, I don’t believe it. Nobody’s prettier than you.”

“Oh, stop it, you flirt.”

“Hey!”

“You deserve it!”

•


	2. Loading...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this chapter gets a little dark! Nothing too bad just yet, but... come ready.

They did end up watching Synthia’s action movie. Sung had to listen to her babble on about the main character and the lore of the franchise and her shipping of the main lady and her best friend. Synthia did love her gay ships. He didn’t mind— it was kinda amazing to hear his friend so excited about something like this. They fell asleep on the couch, too drowsy to move to their beds on the ship.

When Sung woke up, it was still dark outside, which wouldn’t be unusual on its own— he usually woke up way earlier than Synthia did, with heavy chastising from her as a price. He’d get up and tinker for a bit if, and his mind wasn’t too turbulent, he’d even go back to bed. This time was different, as he realized when he turned to look at the clock with a sleepy eye.

The clock read _10:00 AM_.

Sung blinked, figuring he’d read it wrong. The blaring red of the LEDs in the clock didn’t shift. His pulse stuttered to a stop before kicking into full gear again, pounding in his throat. What was this?

He almost frantically shook Synthia awake, and she groaned and sat up slowly, her hair a jumbled mess. “Sung, what…?”

“Synthia, the sky is pitch black and the clock says it’s 10 AM.”

“What?” She repeated, having heard him, but not quite grasping what it meant. “I… what does that mean?”

“I don’t know… but I…” He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. Should he tell her? It could be unrelated, just adding to their problems, but something in his chest was telling him no, say it, you have to tell her, tell her something. Secrets never lasted long between them anyway. 

“You what?” Her eyes were darkening, and a wind carrying the smell of a typhoon blew into the room.

“There… at the concerts… there were shadows, and they were coming from the audience… at first it was only one, and a little flash at that, but then at the gig last night there were dozens—“

“Fuck!” Synthia swore. “Shadows? What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“I don’t know!” Something thumped against the outside of the ship’s hull. Sung’s heart jerked down into his stomach before resuming its post in his throat. “...What was that?”

Synthia carefully stepped toward the door and opened it slowly. Sung followed her closely, apprehensive to the touch. 

It was a shadow, but nobody was there to cast it. It was free and moving and pounding the outside of their little ship. Sung yanked Synthia back inside and slammed the door shut as the dark mirror’s head swung toward them. 

“Okay, that’s DEFINITELY not good! What the FUCK!” Synthia trilled. Sung stumbled back from the door, shaken. That thing definitely shouldn’t exist, and being near it made him feel fundamentally wrong. It felt like he was being pulled by a magnet towards something so cold it was hot like a winked out star.

“We… can we get off-planet?” He suggested, his voice breaking. Neither of them had been, but they had a ship...and it functioned, in theory… The same quality that was pulling Sung towards the thing was what was making him want to get as far away from it as possible, to run, to hide.

“I…I guess there’s no harm in trying, right?” Synthia must have felt it too, because she shook as she took the suggestion.

The pounding resumed outside, and grew louder and increasingly more powerful. It was rhythmic and measured and decidedly not the work of something mindless— no, these shadows had cunning and intent and Sung had to get away _now_.

The tugging in his mind grew until he doubled over, clutching at his head and hissing. Synthia looked at him worriedly and ran to the little control room of the ship, quickly flicking switches. Even though they’d never been off-planet, everyone in Cellestium was trained to fly a ship of their design and knew at least two intergalactic dialects. Cellestium wasn’t big on travel, because they were so far from other planets, but it helped to know these things in situations.

Such as when living shadows come to knock down your door.

The ship’s engines sputtered twice before flickering out, and Synthia muttered a curse under her breath, frantically pulling more switches. Sung ignored the tugging as the pounding finally stopped and managed to walk to her, checking that she’d done everything right. She had, of course, and the engines flared to life once more. She whooped with joy and prepared to lift the shuttle from the surface.

A loud _POP_ like the water rushing from a burst dam cracked through the tense air, and the engines crashed down to silence again. “Nonononononono… what happened?!”

The air around them turned to shattering glass as the shadows poured in, from cracks in the door, from holes in the wall, from broken windows. Sung almost fell over from just how wrong their presence felt, and Synthia grabbed him before he did, slinging his arm around her shoulders as her eyes darted around. 

They’d sabotaged the engines and busted in. These things clearly wanted something from them, and Sung had a mild guess as to what it was.

Then one of them spoke, and it was like nails on a chalkboard to Sung’s already addled brain. He couldn’t help it— he threw up, right there, falling off Synthia and onto the floor. The darkness advanced, but a hot summer breeze roared insistently through the air, ripping the shadows from their positions. Synthia was panting, ready for a fight. “Leave him alone, you little CREEPS!”

The shadows hissed, but recovered quickly. They lunged at her hungrily, Sung forgotten on the ground. She blasted them with another gale force before calling to Sung, “GET TO THE POD! I’LL MEET YOU THERE AFTER I FUCK THESE ASSHOLES UP!”

She didn’t need to ask twice. Sung shakily stood and bolted to the tiny room that was their ship’s escape pod. They used it as a storage room, canned food and water strewn about with holopics and Sung’s spare robot parts in cardboard boxes on shelves. He quickly cleared the shelf covering the controls, but another massive wave of nausea buried him like the tide coming in. He knelt on the ground, dryly retching as spots danced in his vision. He weakly reached for the panel, but Synthia got there first. 

From the outside, she was punching in the launch code. As she was distracted, the shadows saw their chance and seized it, grabbing her shoulders and ripping at her face and hair. She managed to finish punching in the door code before falling back with their weight. The door slid sealed, leaving Sung inside and her out.

A feeling of cold dread sobered Sung, and he stood. “Synthia… what are you doing…?”

“I don’t have a death wish, Sung, but death seems to have a wish for me— NOW GO!” She roared, slamming the launch button. She shook off two of the shadows sinking into her shoulders, but four more took their place, and she fell backwards, losing her footing. “Go…”

Sung pounded on the door as the pod detached from the ship, slamming into the sky. The ship and the ground got smaller and smaller, and as he entered the atmosphere, he slammed into the wall. This time, the dark was comforting.

But the image of Synthia’s smile was still burned in his mind, and the terrible shadows who had taken her away still screeched against his ears.

•

When Sung woke up, he could almost think that he was back on the couch, warm and comfortably cradled in blankets while Synthia breathed quietly next to him.

Cold metal and a buzzing headache tore the illusion away as his vision faded back in. His whole body felt sore, as if he’d just run a marathon and then bench-pressed a house. His core was still glowing, giving him at least a little light in the dark tomb of the pod around him.

It was a little bigger than their kitchen on the ship, enough for him to comfortably live off of for a while, provided he rationed food carefully. As Sung slowly got up, he tried to check the GPS (galactic positioning systems), but to no avail. Static covered the screen, and as he watched, shadows seemed to stretch out from the controls, reaching for him, grabbing at him—

He stumbled back, blindly firing off a bolt of light to get away from the grasping darkness, and the feeling vanished. He gasped for air, suddenly having trouble breathing, and grasped the console of the GPS. The screen was now shattered, controls steaming from the burst he’d impulsively thrown. If it hadn’t been broken before, it definitely was now. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” It looked like he’d be out here for a while. Sung checked his good supply, trying to calculate how long he could safely stay out in this void. Provided nothing else broke, of course. Cellesti didn’t need to eat often, only about a few times a week, so with his meager food rations, he would be able to comfortably live for about… a year.

A good amount of time to find a hospitable planet, he supposed. His throat was still dry, practically begging him to drink something, so he stood and began to search through the boxes for something of the sort. If he remembered right, they had kept water jugs in here—

He froze as he opened the box. A holopic stared back at him, smiling, happy. It was of Synthia, when they were smaller. She was covered in mud, but still laughing and smiling like there was nothing wrong. 

Was she okay? Was she… dead? Was she still fighting those damned shadows?

Was this his fault?

He slammed the lid of the box down. Water could wait if it meant not having to face her again. 

He’d just left her there… Why had he gotten so sick so fast? She had stayed strong and paid the price of being stuck on a shadow infested planet. What would be worse? Her death? Or her fighting the waves of darkness for all eternity?

He had to stop thinking about this, it would ruin him. He needed a distraction. 

Maybe the box of spare parts under the counter could help.

Sung slid the box out, praying there wouldn’t be another holopic waiting to shock him again. Thankfully, there weren’t. Familiar gears and glass greeted him as he peered in, assessing what he had. There was a lot of stuff in here, stuff he could use to build something… maybe not great, but at least something.

He crawled under the counter, digging further to find the spare toolbox Synthia had hidden. He’d been working too much on a project, so she’d stolen his tools and shoved them down here. Sung had needed a new set anyway, so he pretended like he couldn’t find them and bought a new set. His fingers gripped the toolbox handle and he yanked it out of its hiding place with a loud _CLANG_!

Time to get to work.

The gears certainly provided a great distraction as Sung picked apart half finished circuits and small projects he’d worked on but eventually scrapped. He didn’t really start off with a plan for what he would make, but as he fit together the parts into something, he realized he needed company. So as the gears clicked together and the wires connected, he made a small metal shell. Nothing to fill it just yet, but he would figure it out later.

He was feeling thirsty for some water.

•

**Log Entry: One**

**< voice transcript>**

**Uh… I figured I should do one of these, maybe! Just in case something goes wrong, probably just to keep track of the days. Cellesti are pretty hardy, I don’t think I’ll die out here, but… it’s not impossible. Plus, I need to keep track of my progress on this little guy! Still need a name for him. I’ll keep working on it. Never been good at names, that’s always been… her forte. I hope she’s… I hope she’s alright... <unable to transcribe at this time> ...Logging off for the first day, now. This is Doctor Sung, signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

•

**Log Entry: Six**

**< voice transcript>**

**It’s been a little while, I know that… kinda hard to keep track of time up here though, haha. Progress has been made on the little guy! I decided on a name and a function for him— his name will be Sal, and he’ll scan planets to see if there’s life on them. Hopefully I can get him to check my vitals as well, I kinda need something like that right now. Maybe I should get a clock.**

**< end of voice message>**

•

Sung squinted over the tiny skeleton of the helper he was working on. The scanner was acting up again, and he suspected that the robot’s lense was faulty. He grabbed a magnifier and fixed it to his eye to get a closer look. Sure enough, the small blue circle that projected the holograms was cracked across the middle. 

He grabbed a pair of tweezers and carefully pulled on the hologlass plate, careful not to snap it and lodge shards in the robot’s inner workings. With a steady hand, the plate pulled free cleanly, and he set it down on the counter, leaning back in his chair. He’d have to replace that bit if little Sal was to function for him, but hologlass was hard to come by here…

The blue shine of one of the holopics on the console caught his eye as it caught the light. He strode across the room, picking it up carefully. It was a picture of her, projecting into the air. Taken when she was around 10, just after they’d become friends. She was laughing, probably at something behind the camera. Sung didn’t remember this particular picture being taken, he must not have been there for the occasion. He meticulously inspected the base of the picture, looking for the telltale light of a hologlass plate. Sure enough, a tiny white glow emanated from the bottom of the picture. 

He bit his lip. Just grab the plate, take it, it’s just a picture, it’s not like you’re killing...a _person_ , or something like that…

•

**Log Entry: Seven**

**< voice transcript>**

**Sal’s hologlass broke. No replacements could be found at the time. I have to deem him a failure.**

**< voice message end>**

•

Sung sat down, shoving little Sal’s unfinished skeleton into a box below. So much for that distraction…

How could he focus like this? How was he supposed to keep going with reminders strewn out all around him? 

Why did he get to keep going without her?

He stared at the skeleton, unable to shut the drawer. Poor Sal.

The drawer hung open as the bed squeaked under his weight. It was a barebones thing, but he didn’t really need luxury. Nor did he deserve it.

Could she ever be replaced? She was one of a kind, not a plate he could just take and swap out and fix. Something he didn’t understand and something he hadn’t pretended to.

What do you do when the one truth of your knowledge, or rather, of your not-knowledge, is suddenly the only thing that matters?

Sung fell asleep staring at the open drawer, looking at nothing.

•


	3. System Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! We get into some dark thoughts this chapter. Beware of suicidal and/or self harming themes!

**Log Entry: Fourteen**

**< voice transcript>**

**Since Sal was abandoned, I’ve been trying to think of ways to keep myself busy until I run into a habitable planet. I could survive on almost anything, but so far, there hasn’t been anything except the dark here. Guess Cellestium was— is— farther out than I figured. With the GPS still broken, I don’t really have a way to figure out where to go, so… Might just have to run until the good ol’ pod runs out of fuel. I… I don’t know if I can fix the GPS. I saw the shadows dripping from it, and… I’m scared, honestly— <data lost due to signal error. please try again later> I’ve rambled long enough now. Signing off.**

**< end of voice message>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Twenty**

**< voice transcript> **

**I really, really need to stop… thinking about her. It’s distracting and nothing good can come of it, but I can’t stop. I can’t bring her back, obsessing over it won’t do me any good, but hope is a really hard thing to destroy, especially when you have nothing else to hold onto… I’m just tired of this, this lingering sadness and regret of everything… recently I’ve been feeling more nauseous, too, but I think I just need to drink more water for that. I’ll start a new project soon to keep my mind off things. Signing off now.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Twenty Five**

**< voice transcript>**

**I don’t really have a way to keep track of time up here, so I just sleep when I’m tired, and then I wake up and do these logs. I still don’t have a project to occupy my mind, which I should work on, honestly. But I’ve been thinking in place of that, messing around with my light and the holopics, and… I don’t know about this yet, but… if I could draw her memories from those holopics… and build a form to contain them…**

**It’s crazy, now that I’m saying it. I should forget about that.**

**Sung, signing off.**

**< end of voice message>**

**•**

Sung sighed and flared a small light in his palm. He’d been working on maintaining a light for longer than just a short burst, but it was slow, exhausting work. Using that much concentrated energy in such a big amount was draining as hell, but he really had nothing better to do.

This little bubble was about the size of a small tangerine, and as he stared at it, it grew to the size of an orange. The edges began to blur the longer he held it, but he gritted his teeth and enlarged the light to the size of a grapefruit. It began to shake, its form flickering, and Sung’s fingers grew hot. He dropped the bubble, plunging back into darkness and into his chair.

His eyes slid to the other sources of light in the pod: the holopics. Their blue glow somehow drained him even more than making his yellow beacon in the room. His core gently flickered against his chest, but he reached out to look at one of them anyway. It was a picture he’d taken. She was laying on the ground, thick black hair full of grass and eyes shining underneath a sky smattered with stars. She didn’t seem to know that he was taking the picture, which Sung remembered to be true.

It was just before they’d named their little constellation— felt like so long ago, but it had probably only been a month or so since then. What had the little stars been named…? Time, he recalled. She’d called them “time” before naming each one. Past, present, future, and decision. Decision was supposedly important, she had said, strangely serious in the moment. 

Looking at the picture, Sung almost understood why. Decisions were what led to everything, every sequence and action in the cold void of space. Decisions were a matter of life and death, and she’d decided on death…

Death. It felt so wrong thinking about her in terms of that word. She’d always been so decidedly alive, animated and excited, more ecstatic and bombastic about everything than anyone Sung had ever seen. But there they were, him the survivor and her the victim. Him alive and breathing and her dead, gone. In exile. 

Sung stumbled back, a creeping sadness taking his mind by storm. It had been a few clouds on the horizon, but now the waves were raging and rain was rocketing down like bullets in his brain. He sat down hard on the little cot, head falling to his hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she couldn’t be dead like this. They were supposed to be together, together, together…

  
  


Maybe there was a way to make them be together again. Both dead or both living, the way it had always been. It would be easy enough to arrange his own death; he was stuck in the unfeeling nothing of space, after all, but something deep in him didn’t want to die. A tiny little spark, flaring like a coal blown on by a blacksmith’s bellows.

It had her voice, saying, “You’ll go far...you are worth it… you are important.”

So the only decision was life.

A fire began to light in his brain.

•

**Log Entry: Twenty Six**

**< voice transcript>**

**I have a new project. She’s dead, but… maybe I can twist that truth. Just a bit. Project name to be determined.**

**Hopefully this is the right decision.**

**Signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Twenty Eight**

**< voice transcript>**

**I’ve gathered all the parts, laid them out, made sure I have all my tools… This could actually work. I could actually make something for her, to be her… I just need to find something to actually make it her. I’m surrounded by trapped memories in these pictures… what if I could free them, put them into a hollow shell? It’s a long shot, but if I could program the image data of these pictures into a metal body, it could give the robot an actual personality, a mold to be formed from. Still no name for the project yet, but I’ll keep working on it. Signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Thirty**

**According to the numbers of these logs, I’ve been out here for a month today. It feels like way longer, though— I guess boredom makes time crawl, huh? I’ve been working on reworking the code of one of the holopics I have here. It’s the one that I took, so even if it’s destroyed in this process, I’ll at least have the memory. The code for the image is located in a tiny chip under the hologlass, but I don’t really have a way to access the raw data yet. I’ll put that aside for a bit while I work on the body for her. I don’t have a lot of actually formed metal for this, but I can make it work. I have to. Sung, signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Thirty Three**

**< voice transcript>**

**Okay, so. The project is going well, but I…kinda sliced my hand on a plate of metal. It was a pretty big gash, but luckily we had the foresight to restock the first aid kit before… all this. I put some gauze on it and disinfected it, so hopefully that’ll be the end of it. I’m not gonna be as dexterous as I was with one hand wrapped like this. Gotta be more careful, I can’t afford another incident like that. The basic components of the heart are assembled, however— I’m starting from the chest and head and working out. It’s like a big puzzle. Signing off now.**

**< voice message end>**

•

**Log Entry: Thirty Six**

**< voice transcript>**

**The chest box is complete. I can’t find anything to serve as a voicebox, so I’m adding this as a reminder to wire a screen to the neural processors. I started working on the head a few hours ago. The brain wiring is difficult with only one hand, I might have to wait a while and heal it before I can resume work on that. It’s been a while since I practiced with my lights, anyway, I’ll probably work on that to stave off the boredom. I’ve also been contemplating adding a holographic projector, since I have all this spare hologlass now. She should be able to make her own appearance, right? I think that’s fair… I do miss her. I… I hope it works…**

**Of course it’ll work. It has to. Signing off now, Sung.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Thirty Nine**

**< voice transcript>**

**My hand is healing up pretty neatly. Another little while and it’ll probably be okay to keep working with. Working on my lights has actually been pretty fun, if really tiring, but with nothing else to do, my thoughts keep running out of control… usually back to Celestium. I can maintain a bolt for about the count of 100 without a whole lot of energy spent, but not much longer after that. I’ve been trying to change the color of the beam as well; that doesn’t seem to be part of my skill set. I tried to fade my normal yellow into red and then back to yellow, but no results showed. Increasing and decreasing heat, however, is something I managed, and it took way less energy than maintaining a bolt. Anyway, I’ve rambled enough now— my hand should be better really soon, and I’m gonna pass out for a bit now. Signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Forty**

**< voice transcript>**

**My hand’s healed up now. It scarred a bit, but with all the sleeping I did, it healed way faster than I thought it would. I’m going back to work on the neural pathways again soon, the project’s been stagnant for too long. I’ll keep updates of how it’s going in here from now on. Light practice might have to wait for a while just so I can work on this little body, but that’s fine. I got in a lot of work while my hand healed. Sung, signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Forty Three**

**< voice transcript>**

**Okay, the brain wiring is going better since the last log. I found the right wire this time, and a good conducting plate to send the electricity down the spine. I only got a few wires connected in all of today’s time, though— this is gonna be tedious. It’ll all be worth it soon… I hope… The stars are so close out here. Surprisingly, I haven’t stumbled across any in person, but I’ve come close to them. They’re incredibly dangerous with such a strong gravitational pull, so I usually steer clear of them, but the little I’ve seen showed me that they’re absolutely beautiful. <unable to transcribe, please try again later> Ugh, guess that’s my signal to go to bed. Signing off, Sung.**

**•**

**Log Entry: Forty Six**

**< voice transcript>**

**I’ve been able to pick up the pace a bit on the wiring since the little incidents in the last two logs. Working with wires barehanded is… a bit painful, haha. But nevertheless, I’ve been working more quickly since then, and I think I’m about… halfway? I’ll need to make the rest of the body before I finish that, which shouldn’t be too hard, actually. I already have the chest done, and assuming I want to make her look similar to a Cellesti, I can use a simple hover magnet to attach her head to that, and limbs to the chest and all that. I should make the hips next, then the legs, then arms. The hands’ll probably be the worst— so precise and small! Joints are a bitch anyway, they don’t have to be small to accomplish it. I still don’t have a name… been using all my brainpower on building her! I’ll keep thinking on it. Signing off now.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Forty Nine**

**< voice transcript>**

**Okay, the legs and arms are going well so far! I don’t wanna jinx it, but the joints are cooperating so far, and the metal plating is pretty durable. Attaching the plates is more of a challenge— the blowtorch I have is pretty rickety, so I’ve been trying to heat my light enough to weld the plates together. It worked surprisingly well, but it’s hard to keep up and very tiring. I’m gonna head to sleep now after all that, keep thinking about it for tomorrow and all that. Signing off.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

**Log Entry: Fifty Two**

**< voice transcript>**

**We have a leg, mister log! The right leg is assembled, and the joints are mostly attached. It’ll take a bit more work to get them weight reinforced, but for now, that leg is done. It’s good to see that I’ve been making progress now… I was starting to lose a bit of hope that I’d actually get something done. Now I can actually see the beginnings of something great. It’s truly lovely. The so called heart is serving its purpose— it’ll be the central magnet to attach the limbs to the torso. Next up is the left leg. That won’t take too long, I think! Signing off now. Sung.**

**< voice message end>**

**•**

Sung woke up to less light than he’d gone to sleep with. He figured it was just that he’d left the solar system he’d been in for a while, continually jetting past its central star until its light couldn’t reach him, and he was right. He was once again in that little space between the systems where the only thing breaking up the endless dark was tiny pinholes of white and blue and orange and red. It was slightly comforting, seeing the distant lights smoldering like little embers in a blanket of night. If he was stranded out here, he’d be set in a fate of nothing like she was.

Thoughts like that weren’t as comforting.

He got up and stretched, reaching under his sprawling work desk to grab something to eat. He hadn’t eaten at all before that last sleep cycle, but Cellesti didn’t need to eat frequently anyway. Reaching for a little protein bar, he bit into the grainy bar and slid his chair back to the map of parts laid out on the table.

The thing on the table was starting to look like how he’d intended. The face was still not attached, giving the skeleton a very ghostly look, but the legs and torso were very distinct. Today he’d be switching back to the brain— he couldn’t keep procrastinating on the shell’s memories. This whole plan hinged on the memories, he had to see if it was possible if he was to continue. 

Sung grabbed the holopic he’d be messing with from the shelf. He carefully fiddled with its data chip, drawing it out with small tweezers. It was a tiny thing, barely the size of his pinky nail. He set it down on the table cautiously as the holopic’s image flickered off. Her face dissolved into thin air, and Sung stared at the empty frame. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected that to happen, it just… it affected him more than he’d admitted it would. It was like she’d left him all over again.

He shook his head out of the daze and set the empty frame on the table, turning back to the data chip. His plan was pretty simple, it was just a matter of whether the data could be extracted and converted into personality data.

Only one way to find out. Sung leaned over the desk in his chair and began the wire work.

What felt like hours later, he leaned back again, hands shaking. The chip was wired into the head now, set up like he’d envisioned… now he’d just have to attach it to the chest. He summoned a bolt, burning hot and bright, cutting into the metal plating of the top of the chest. After that, the hover magnet stuck like a charm, and he pulled the same trick with the bottom of the skull. The two magnets automatically locked together, and Sung carefully opened the chest panel to make sure the heart was routing the electricity correctly. Everything seemed to be running smoothly there, but the screen wasn’t attached yet. He quickly flipped the magnets off and began fastening the bot’s makeshift face to her skull. His fingers almost moved as if they had a mind of their own, quick and precise, but anxiously awaiting the result of this terrifying experiment.

Soon, the screen was smoothly grafted into the back half of the skull. It was a very sleek design for the current situation, he had to admit, with the black glass shifting to fit the curvature of the frame it was set in.

“Okay,” he muttered, speaking to himself for the first time in ages, “moment of truth.” Sung opened the chest panel of the robot, making sure all the wires were connected correctly. His hands were shaking, he realized, as he carefully cradled the fragile wiring. A few wires had been knocked out of their sockets, so Sung moved them expertly through the maze of copper and aluminum back to their correct place. Nothing could be out of place for this. After running a few more checks on the brain and face display, he deemed the shell ready.

He flipped the magnets back on and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter’s my favorite! >:3c can’t wait for y’all to read it heheeheheeee
> 
> Comments make me really happy and I’ll probably respond if you leave one! Thanks so much!


	4. Synthesis Complete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it’s time for my favorite and final chapter. Hold on to your hats, ladies, gents, and royalty, it’s a finale!

**Log Entry: Fifty Three**

**< voice transcript> **

**It...it worked. The memory implant actually** **_worked._ ** **I wired everything together and… and the screen lit up with a startup symbol and… and she talked. I asked her what her name was. She answered. Something different than what I’d expected, but it made sense considering the little memory I fed her. She remembered me, and the stars, and the wind on that night, and— this is better than I could have ever hoped for. I asked her if it was okay to put her to sleep while I worked on the rest of her body, which seemed to confuse her a bit, but she consented. She’s in sleep mode on the work table right now. This is** **_insane_ ** **… will it work? It… it might. I’ll work on implanting the rest of the little data chips over the next few days; I don’t want to overload her or anything like that. She has a name now— Project Constellation, a name she chose for herself. Something tells me I’ll be getting these logs out less frequently; sleep isn’t a priority anymore. Signing off for now, this is Sung.**

**< voice message end>**




Sung woke up the next day and didn’t bother to eat anything. All he wanted to do was work on Constellation. She deserved a good body, one that was whole and usable, and he had to work doubly hard on it to make sure that her arms would be done in time for her to wake up again. 

He worked almost feverishly, almost in a daze as he assembled the joints of the bicep and the forearm together. Shoulder joint, attach the hand, repeat. Wire the arm together, make sure it moves correctly. Check the hover magnet’s pull. Check the circulation of the heart again.

And most importantly, cut in another data chip. 

He had taken this one from a photo someone had taken at one of their little concerts. It was probably the kindly bartender; she’d always loved their shows, nodding her head to the beat behind her counter, antennae lighting up contentedly with soft green light as she served patrons. In the photo, his partner was dancing on the stage, clutching her microphone and leaning out over the crowd excitedly. It was a perfect moment to add next.

He once again opened up Constellation’s head plating, checking the seam of the screen display while he was at it. The seam was still holding strong, which he took a second to breathe a sigh of relief at. Carefully working around the previous chip, he inserted the small copper wires in place of the holopic’s aluminum ones. Making sure everything was still in order, he switched on the hover magnets and pulled the two arms he’d crafted earlier closer to the torso. They snapped into place easily.

He powered on Constellation’s display screen, and her holographic features stuttered to life in shimmering blue.  _ “Booting… booting… memory system updating. New data card detected. Information downloading.”  _ The voice that slid out of the small speakers on Constellation’s jaw wasn’t what she’d sounded like last night— Sung assumed that this was the voice of her system, not her. 

_ “Memory system updated. Commencing reboot of system.”  _ Sung held his breath, waiting for the slump of the robot’s torso to straighten. Her eyes opened slowly, and her body straightened. 

_ “Hello?”  _ Sung smiled. This was the voice who had spoken to him earlier. The comforting, familiar lilt of the words. This time, they had a more musical quality, just like her voice had, but the words were more shy and restrained.

“Hello! Welcome back, Constellation.”

_ “Wait...don’t tell me.”  _ Her digital face scrunched together in concentration.  _ “You’re… Sung! Doctor Sung.”  _ She nodded, clearly satisfied with herself.

“Yeah! That’s me! I fixed your arms while you were out, and updated your memory bank.” Sung tapped his brow. “Does everything feel okay?”

She tilted her head as if listening to something in the air.  _ “It feels okay,”  _ she finally said, “ _ the memory. It’s nice. Loud, and sweet.” _

“That’s good! No headache or anything?”

_ “Not as of now, Doctor.” _

Sung almost winced at the use of the title. “You don’t have to call me that, my name’s Sung anyway. There’s not really any reason to call me a doctor… I didn’t save anyone.”

Her brow furrowed, blue pixels knotting in confusion.  _ “Save anyone?” _

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing to do with you,” he responded hastily. Her eyes narrowed, but she obliged.

_ “Alright, Sung, may I ask a question, then?” _

“Sure. As long as it’s not about that,” Sung smiled. 

_ “Are these my memories?” _

“Hmmm… that’s a bit of a tricky question.” Sung sat down in his little chair as she sat up on the table, legs dangling off the edge of it. “They are now, but they weren’t.”

_ “Whose were they?”  _ Constellation reached for the holopic closest to her curiously. It was the one of the tiny girl, antennae sparking and dirty as she grinned, joyful and bubbling.

Sung cleared his throat. “My… my friend’s. She… we were in a band together back home, but… things took a bad turn about two months ago. I’ve… I’ve been adrift here ever since.”

_ “Was I made to contain these memories?” _

Sung nodded, and Constellation put the holopic down.  _ “Interesting.” _ She caught a glance of the small glass window by Sung’s cot, and her eyes widened, little sparks lighting up her face.  _ “Where are we?” _

She hopped off the table and wobbled over to the window. Sung got up, grabbing her arm to balance her. “Careful!” He helped her kneel on his bed to get a better look out the window. Everything was quiet for a moment save for the buzzing of her internal magnet system as she gazed out into the dense expanse of night around them.

_ “My… her memories are telling me that those are stars. They’re… they’re beautiful.” _ Her voicebox was barely above a whisper. She set a hand on the glass almost longingly.

“They’re where I came from. Where everything comes from, actually.”

_ “Even me?”  _ The way she looked at him then, eyes wide and full of hope and wonder, she could’ve asked him to jump into space and he would have done it. Constellation was so heartbreakingly close to her, but different in her own little way. She was still more understated and reserved, but her presence commanded the room.

“Even you.”




**Log Entry: Fifty Four**

**< voice transcript>**

**Constellation is so bright! Her memory transplant is going so well, and she’s so curious about space and our surroundings. She was looking out at the stars, asking me to explain how they worked, but after a while her arm magnet failed suddenly. It was kind of funny, actually— we both looked at the arm for a solid twenty seconds before she began giggling. It didn’t look like the failure hurt her at all, she found it rather funny, but I still had to put her to sleep so I could investigate what had happened. I haven’t added pain receptors to her body, but sentient creations can have weird reactions to traumatic things like that. I gotta be careful with her, she’s my only shot. Plus her company out here is incredibly invaluable. She made me promise to sleep whenever I powered her off, for my own safety… I’ll try to honor my word. So, signing off now— this is Sung.**

**< voice message end>**




Constellation’s arm didn’t appear to be damaged when Sung looked it over after he woke up, so logically, it must have been a failure of the central magnet power system. To make sure, he hooked her heart wiring into the pod’s main computer screen. Her face display wouldn’t be able to show such information correctly. He hadn’t used the main system much in all his time here— without the GPS working, he hadn’t had much use for it other than checking fuel levels (which he was still pretty good on, for now. Celestium made efficient energy for their ships, he had to admit) and playing some kind of snake game. 

There was a port for users to check robot systems in, thank the stars, so it was only a matter of using that correctly. It was a pretty confusing thing, wiring a heart into a computer, but after a bit of careful finagling Constellation’s display lit up with a  _ Porting… _ text. The main computer lit up with her same bright blue, bringing up the diagnostics for her heart up on the screen. Sure enough, the power of the heart had been reduced to about 75%, forcing it to cut off the power to Constellation’s arm, so all he had to do was restore its power and add her new memory. Simple.

Sung unplugged her heart and laid her out on the table once again. The problem was a pretty easy fix, only requiring him to pull out a jumpstarter from one of the sprawling storage units on the ground and walls. After her heart was juiced up again, he set about removing the next memory from its glass prison. This was the oldest picture, the one of her as a child, grinning and dirty. Sung figured it was pretty important to give Constellation the basics of who she’d been, plus she’d been a really adorable child. The wiring took less and less time each chip he placed. He supposed it was his muscle memory developing.

After the chip was in place, he closed up her head plating and started her up again. The same  _ memory updating…  _ message flared to life before fading into Constellation’s features. She looked up.  _ “Oh, you fixed the arm,” _ she said nonchalantly.  _ “It’s good.” _

“It feels okay?”

_ “Yeah!” _ She closed her eyes like she had the day before and Sung assumed she was looking back into her new memory.  _ “The memory, however…” _

He felt his stomach drop. “What? Is there something wrong with it?”

_ “It feels a little disconcerting. The girl in it is small and very bubbly...there’s not really anything there that I could relate to, I’m afraid.”  _ She frowned confusedly at Sung.  _ “This is one that definitely feels like it couldn’t belong to me.”  _

“Ah… I see…” He sat down hard on the bed, trying to think of a solution. “Do you think I could fix it?”

Constellation hummed softly, mulling over his question.  _ “Maybe if you filled in the blanks for me it would feel like it was more a part of me and not just a remnant of something else. Like another memory to bridge the gap, or telling me the story of who I am.” _

“I can tell you that story, if you think it would help?”

_ “I don’t want to ask you to tell it if you’re not comfortable talking about her, Do— Sung.” _

“I’d rather you be able to feel happy in your own mind than me have a little bit of a painful remembrance, Constellation.” As much as he wanted Constellation to be her, she wasn’t. And he wasn’t about to make her be something she wasn’t fit to be. But he owed it to her to at least make her someone, not just a half full glass.

_ “If you’re okay with that, tell me her— my— story.” _

“Okay,” Sung replied, taking a deep breath, “let’s start at the beginning.

She was made on the planet Celestium, out of the light of the stars, just like the rest of us. She was raised in a small town, sent to a small school, where she met a little boy with one eye. The other kids thought he looked weird, that he shouldn’t be allowed to talk to them, but she was loud and fierce, and she stood up for the boy. They became friends as they grew, and as he discovered his love for music, she did too. They had fun making little songs on the side of their classes, something to keep their minds set and ready.” Sung paused for a breath, gauging Constellation’s reaction to this. She looked curious, with her head tilted to the side in telltale thinking and her legs crossed like she was a small child at a lecture. That was what had struck him about her, Sung realized in a flash. Constellation was more innocent, more childlike, more...new than his old friend had been. She was missing that boldness, that fierce drive that the singer had possessed.

The realization of this was both satisfying and terrifying. The differences had been bothering him for a while, and it technically meant he’d failed… But did he need a replacement? An exact copy, down to the letter? Or was Constellation’s understated company enough? 

He supposed he’d just have to keep going to find out. “The two were playing outside a bar one day, messing around with a synth and a guitar they’d bought with their first few paychecks at a robotics facility. The owner came out of the building to see what was happening in front of her store, and she asked them to play a bit for her. The pair obliged, and she asked if they’d like a bit of a side job playing for crowds in her store. The girl excitedly agreed, and they prepared for their first little concert. It was fun, and soon it had ballooned into a whole flourishing career…” Sung laughed a bit. “Well, as flourishing as you can get with a 25 person crowd. It was fun. They went on like that for a while. Until they didn’t anymore...shadows crept in and separated them. Probably for good.” He cleared his throat and turned away from Constellation so she couldn’t read his face.

_ “Thank you for the story, Sung. I see now why you would choose to fight for this girl. She seems very wonderful from what I know about her.”  _ A little magnetic hum told Sung that Constellation was thinking. In a quieter tone, she said,  _ “I don’t think I can be her. We are different, and I’m sorry. Maybe in time I can learn, but… I have failed for the time being.” _

Sung looked up sharply. “Constellation, no! Of course you haven’t failed. You’re amazing like this, right now.”

_ “But you are disappointed. I can see it in your shoulders, the way your voice trembles, the way you turned away. I failed you. I failed her.” _

“No,” Sung said firmly, grabbing Constellation’s hand gently. “You didn’t commit a crime by existing. I made you out of grief and thought I could just...make a perfect copy of something when the original was gone…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “It was a fool’s hope, but someone good came out of it. You. You’re someone to keep me here, someone to keep me company. We’ll be friends, different than her and I, but just as good. In a way, you did serve your purpose well! You gave me a reason to make it through.”

Constellation’s eyes stared blankly at him, sad and distant.  _ “I would like to be friends, yes, and I am glad you made it. I have a feeling I would be much worse off if you had left,”  _ she joked half heartedly. She pulled her hand away from Sung’s grip.  _ “Can we do a log together? I’m tired out.” _

“Oh, good idea!” Sung smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. “Here’s the recorder in the main computer module— and you just hit this, and then this—“




**Log Entry: Fifty Five**

**< voice transcript>**

**Hello, little recorder thing! Today I have someone special with me. Say hi to Constellation!**

**_Sung, I don’t think it knows how to do that._ **

**I mean, yeah, fair point. So why don’t you say hi to it?**

**_Hello, recorder. I’m Constellation._ **

**With feeling!**

**_Hello recorder, I’m Constellation! Pleased to meet you! Was that okay?_ **

**Perfect. Oh, shit— your arm!**

**_Eh. Just means my battery needs to charge. Not urgent. You should sleep first._ **

**Okay, fine. I’ll plug you up in the morning, ‘Kay?**

**_Sure. I’ll power off now._ **

**You gotta sign off—! Damn, she’s gone. Constellation and Sung, signing off for the night.**

**< voice message end>**




_ System Booting… _

_ Magnets Booting… _

_ Memories Booting… _

_ New memories detected. Installation beginning. _

_ Installation complete. _

_ Visuals Booting… _

_ Welcome back. _

_ Constellation had woken up again. A quick scan over Sung’s bed confirmed he was still asleep. She didn’t know why she’d kept booting up randomly lately, but it certainly unsettled her. It felt like something kept activating her again, tugging her awake every night.  _

_ She thought that it might be part of her mind adjusting to new memories, but… she was the one who’d asked for more. If she told Sung that that was what was causing this, he’d get worried and waste his time giving her a checkup.  _

_ Constellation had a sudden thought— she could just check herself up, right? The central computer was always on, because it ran the little pod, and she could probably figure out how to use it and fix the problem before Sung would have to get involved. He’d already had to waste his time to fix her arm a while ago. She wasn’t about to let him spend more time on a failed project. _

_ That  _ was _ what she was, no matter what he said. She was a failure, a tool not living up to her purpose. Something inside of her must be broken for that to happen, right? If there was something wrong, she could fix it. By herself. _

_ Constellation hopped off the table as delicately as she could. Unfortunately, that still involved a loud thump, though it was muffled due to her magnetic joints. Luckily, Sung was a pretty heavy sleeper, so he didn’t stir at the noise. _

_ The dark cabin looked empty save for only the faint blue light of the sleepy computer screen. It matched the colors of her face display, she noticed as she stepped closer to it. The little light coming from the screen didn’t seem to dispel a lot of the shadows in the room, which unsettled her further. They seemed to shimmer and dance if left alone in the cabin’s space, and they didn’t seem inviting like the darkness she’d seen between stars. They seemed hungry, almost malevolent. _

_ She turned her attention back to the task at hand. Creepy shadows be damned, she was going to fix this rebooting problem by herself. Getting immediately distracted wasn’t the way to do that. _

_ Constellation located the port where mechanical objects would sync up. It took a bit of feeling around in her neck joint to find the right wire, but fortunately nothing broke in the process. She gently pulled the wire out and into the computer’s socket. Her vision began to fade into only blue as her mind interfaced into the computer’s data systems. _

_ System detected.  _

_ Mechanical device options  _

  * _Run diagnostics_


  * View internal data


  * Transfer data



_ Find h penenicilfm _

_ Constellation would have frowned if her facial systems were still online. That last thing didn’t seem like an option, but it wasn’t what she was here to do anyway, so she decided to leave it alone. She supposed that “run diagnostics” would be what she needed to see what was wrong with her. _

_ Option  _ **_Run diagnostics_ ** _ selected. _

_ Which systems will be displayed? _

  * _Facial display_


  * Memory bank


  * Magnetics 


  * Inner codejennrnrkem


  * All systems 



_ This was getting odder, but still, she ignored it. Stay on task.  _

_ She wasn’t exactly sure what was causing her to reboot randomly. Sure, she’d suspected it was her memories, but it could be an issue in her magnetics or her inner code anyway, so Constellation decided to view all systems. She wasn’t entirely sure how long that would take, but she was prepared to wait a while. _

_ Option  _ **_All systems_ ** _ selected. _

_ Preparing to display mechanical object diagnostics… _

You thought you could run?

_ 30 percent… _

_ The feeling of unsettling dread was growing as more malfunctions showed on the computer’s display. Was the computer talking to her…? What was she running from?  _

_ Stay on target. _

_ 50 percent… _

Coward.

_ 70 percent… _

_ This was really starting to freak her out. It didn’t seem to be talking to her, it was almost… talking  _ through  _ her. Like she wasn’t there, just a device amplifying a message. She suddenly had an incredible urge to wake Sung, but her brain was still fiercely fighting for independence. It was almost done, freaky text disregarded. Just let him sleep, you can do this without going crying to someone else. _

_ Diagnostics loaded.  _

  * _Facial display: 100% functional_


  * Memory bank: 95% functional


  * Magnetics: 95% functional


  * Inner code: 59472)!3!427)22! Kheo 



You’re broken. Accept my help.

  
  


_ Constellation’s veins would have run cold if she had any. This message was directly aimed at her, she could tell somehow— she had no idea how to respond to that. A computer was talking to her…? Who was it calling a coward? Sung? _

I want to free you. Let me help.

_ Why… who are you? _

A friend.

_ How can I trust you? How did you get on board the ship? _

You don’t have to trust me.

_ What? I don’t— _

I am here to help.

_ Constellation’s vision of the data shattered, giving way to a flooding black. She stumbled away from the computer and toppled off the table, falling to the ground, clawing at the port in the base of her skull. She had to get away from this, now now now— she should have woken Sung, she should have told him what was happening— _

Thank you for cooperating. Now this runaway, defiant of his fate, will get his recourse.

_ “SUNG,” she choked out. Everything was falling down on her systems, warning lights blasting around in her head. She glanced at the walls, seeing shadows moving, this time certain of their dance. This wasn’t a hallucination or a nightmare, something was trying to destroy… her? _

_ No…  _

_ Sung.  _

_ Her display was failing, magnets pulling offline, or at least out of her control. The wire in her neck refused to come out as a feeling of absolute electric numbness overcame all. It was unmoving static, forcing down everything about her. Memories were flashing across the back of her mind as if someone else was viewing them through her, and there was nothing she could do but watch. _

_ “SUNG!” She reached for him, trying to drag herself back up from the ground.  _ “SUNG!”

_ Her vision went dark as her hand fell to the ground, listless and unmoving. _




Sung didn’t need to sleep often, but when he did, he could sleep through almost anything, especially when he dreamed. His dreams were vivid and so real he could almost feel them. They always had been, as long back as he could remember. In school, everyone had been assigned a journal to write their dreams in, to encourage a better level of control in them, which led Sung to believe that these intensely solid visions were a species wide thing. Nobody ever stated otherwise, and it hadn’t been important enough for him to question without a prompt. 

In this dream, there was fog. No light, no shadow, no void. Just fog, clinging to his skin and eye and antennae, making him feel claustrophobic and trapped and invaded somehow. He told himself that it was just water in the air, just droplets, and that this was a dream. It had to be. Though they always felt real, his reality had been the same for so many nights and days, months of nothing but the light of passing stars and the work on projects to pass the time. No fog was going to deceive him into delusion when his life had settled into such a set routine, a cut and dry cycling of thought. 

A light pierced through the fog, but before he could chase it, the scene changed to something more familiar: a field of dew covered grass reflecting the light of the stars above. He was alone here, a foreign part of this known place, until the same light appeared in the spots of his vision. It began to take a form, humming a song with a strange melody. Sung reached out into the light’s shape only for it to dissipate into firefly-esque orbs, floating away into the night sky, coating it like snow over a gravel road. The stars eventually vanished from view completely, covered in the endless blinding light, cold and bright and—

Gone.

The light blinked and flickered, like an illusion, and a crash jerked Sung awake. Immediately everything was wrong— the computer’s lights were flashing red warnings at his wide eye, there were shadows lurking in the corners, performing a macabre and delighted dance, and Constellation was on the ground, covered in the largest of the shadows.

He nearly fell out of bed in his haste to get up, to figure out what was going on, to run to her, to fix this, whatever it was, but something stopped him from touching her form. Some deep buried instinct inside his mind causing him to hesitate at her infested shell, fingers hovering inches above help or hurt. In his moment of confusion, the shadows swirling around their prey pounced. They swept from the walls and under his feet, causing him to scramble back, shrinking against the walls. The shadows melted into the cold shell where he’d stood. This was wrong, all wrong— was Constellation even alive anymore?

Her body twitched and stood on its own. Her magnets were glitching, her movements no longer fluid and delicate but jerky and hasty, like a cat about to spring onto a mouse. Her facial display continued flashing error after error after error, no room for a face or personality that had once been housed there. 

“Constellation?” Sung ventured timidly. This… the shadows… she had to still be there, right?

The shell moved its head, though it was more like a shuddering settle of parts than a calculated movement.  _ I suppose.  _

Sung almost jumped out of his skin. If he wasn’t pressed against the wall already, he would have inches away from the voice grating against his mind. It wormed its way past everything it should have been stopped by and coiled in his innermost thoughts, leaving him nauseous and weak with fear. “What the  _ fuck _ are you?”

The thing didn’t have a visible face, though Sung got the sense it was gleeful.  _ No, the better question is who are  _ you?

_ I can answer your question easily enough, Doctor.  _ The thing slithered closer to him. The motion itself was closer to a dragging, a shriek of metal on metal, but the contentedness and amusement with which it moved radiated a smug aura. Sung was too afraid to move or think or even breathe. Everything he did would be absorbed into this buzzard, this scavenger of worlds.  _ But can you answer mine? _

It took Sung a few seconds to find his voice enough to respond, and even once he found it he almost choked on his words. “I— I’m Sung. I’m from Celesti, I— I’m in a band, I—“

_ You’re wrong, is what you are,  _ it purred, reaching out Constellation’s hand to grab his arm. Its touch seethed like a hot iron and its grip was a vice, clamping his arm down. Sung gasped and fell to his knees, the urge to vomit increasing as his vision blurred. He tried to summon a bubble of light, a shard of something to grasp, but the pain was all encompassing. It was made to distract.  _ You are nothing. A coward, a runaway, a traitor. Fate would have had you die with the rest of those like you, but Fate never lies. Fate determines all: past, present, future. There’s no running for it, even for someone whose only talent is running. _

Past present future. The thing had forgotten one, the most important one, the linchpin in this reactive moment, ready to light at the lightest flick of a flame. This realization offered him a much needed moment of clarity, a light in the typhoon of dark around him.

It was time for Sung to make a decision.

There, with his arm gripped against the iron will of his own creation’s body, he reached out into the neck of the thing holding him hostage. 

And he pulled.

The wires came free in an instant, making the display of the thing’s face sputter once before fading to a final black, a game over. The robotic body fell backward as Sung pressed down his urge to vomit, swallowing his bile and running to the main computer. He clawed open the maintenance panel, scratching and ripping at wires desperately. 

As he’d expected, pulling the head of the body off didn’t stop the being of shadow. It was on the hunt for him and it wouldn’t stop until he was dead, for whatever reason. He yanked a final wire and the pod went entirely dark. It  _ plummeted _ , almost throwing him up against the ceiling with the force of it.

He flew up up up until his head snapped down, catching up with the rest of his body too late. Sung only had time to think a prayer to whatever merciful god was out in the cosmos before the darkness of the pod he’d called his home for so long changed from an absence of light into a dream once more. 

One he wasn’t sure he’d wake from.

As he faded, hurtling towards who knows where, the shadows howled, enraged but helpless to the whistling wind and rush of the freefall. His core shone in the absolute dark of the pod, brighter and brighter into a bright orange bubble as he slept until the dark had nowhere to hide, dissolving into thin air, leaving its shell broken and ruined at its retreat.

The broken ship and the broken Celesti hurtled towards the gray planet, dreaming and ready to fall for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOOO! I DID IT! Thank you guys so much for reading, it really means a lot. This was my first time doing something like this, and I’ll hopefully do more. Comments are sure to make me smile, and any feedback or questions are welcome!


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